how many bones could you hoist -- and yet you call yourself
a cuddler. more latticed than a reef. all bones and no
boxing match. all because you keep company
with the city's deepest smoke holes.
what would go beneath you but dog shit and girders?
pearls and mustaches?
but to shop is to masturbate. wait, wait, wait -- ok.
all these bridges
crown the river
and we beat down into them
and more so at night --
like I could leap...
it looks like what I'd taken to be so
amniotic, or what I wished I'd slid
out into this world. it's what you
hope will shimmy through my
teeth -- it's a bitch of an oiled
celebrity -- it's the biggest mirror
in the world
is that a beheading
or just extreme
there are cracks in them, they realign
to send their bones sideways. but their
skin is dog food, their calendars are
drab as murder. "keyholes" they think,
and surrender their bones to leather.
when we all get together,
someone is instructions or something
or someone has to be all
"but grandma analyzed handwriting!"
and new careers are wrung out
of the kaleidoscope of the
misgivings in that room.
should be more honest --
like a theme park.
you're hanging around
this room right now and i'm
like "that's not a good
idea, if you're serious."
why can't it all mash
up into one big one?
because we'd have to
mash up into it too?
the right sits higher on some,
while others it is the left.
"ok, there is too much stuff in this truck."
she thinks in terms of
people drowning in groups
he is more of a
plastic fork, plastic spoon,
plastic cup, plastic plate.
tender rifles "rock-paper-scissors"
for throats while everything
in the universe Happens.
people are rifling through
bins again in lieu of
Honda plants and
"deep discounted goods."
but then again we've been
here before. just look around you --
for heaven's sake, look up!